


Picking Up The Pieces

by glennjaminhow



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Recreational Drug Use, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: Leslie Knope meets Ben Wyatt their junior year of college at Indiana University. Cue human disaster Ben needing some cheering up; Leslie helps him out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to BenjisCoolTimes and SakuraBlossomStorm for beta-ing this for me! You guys are awesome sauce!

_August 31, 1995_

“You can’t park your car there!” she shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth.

But then this... This scrawny guy with messy hair and a scruffy chin shrugs his shoulders, and, no, sir, she isn’t having any of that.

Seriously. It’s almost the beginning of the school year. It’s a freaking national holiday, and this is how she’s being treated?

Why do other people not view this glorious, magnificent day as the best day ever? Because she can’t be the only one who loves the smell of used textbooks and highlighters, the sounds of students chatting and partying the night away, the sight of freshly cut grass and a well behaved group of raccoons gathering on each and every lawn at Indiana University. Okay, the last one is probably a bit frightening to outsiders, but she promises that the raccoons aren’t in a cult.

At least she doesn’t think they’re in a cult.

This guy, whoever the fudge he is, has the audacity, the nerve to continue wrestling a tote from the back of his... What is that thing? A Saturn? Who the hell drives a Saturn? But, nonetheless, he’s violating clear parking laws, which state that nothing other than emergency vehicles can be stopped at that specific location. And Leslie Knope won’t stand for anything other than completely fair, equitable treatment of every single citizen in the fine city of Indianapolis.

“You can’t park there!” she tells the guy again.

He gestures to the door. “This will literally take five minutes tops. I’ll move it once I’m done.”

She shakes her head, squinting at the vicious afternoon sun behind her sunglasses.

Who does this guy think he is?

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, dear sir,” she tries again. “You seriously can’t park there. You’ll get towed.”

He doesn’t put the tote down. In fact, he continues staring at her like she’s lost her mind, and his car definitely isn’t moving. And what the crap? Is he actually wearing jeans and a flannel in this weather? It’s 91 degrees and counting out here, and it’s only going to get higher as the day wears on. She’s basically drowning in her athletic shorts and IU t-shirt, where she volunteered to be the all day move in coordinator, even if it meant standing outside to greet everyone passing by.

And, trust her, she’s a great greeter; it’s one of her many strengths.

Clearly, though, a weakness of hers is not getting this stupid guy to move his stupid car.

Rules are rules, after all.

The guy sighs. “I’ll move it when I’m done.”

“Are you deaf?” she asks him, puffing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Move your car.”

Okay, so, yeah, maybe she’s losing her cool a little bit, but this guy obviously can’t read or write, and he shouldn’t be going to a university in the first place.

He ignores her, kicking the door of his car closed with his Chuck Taylor covered foot before heading into Pine Hall.

~

_September 1, 1995_

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” her best friend Ann Meredith Perkins says. “It’s Saturday.”

“Saturday is the busiest of all days, Ann!” Leslie tells her, rummaging through her disorderly closet in search of her “IU is the best! Come ask me why!” t-shirt that she arranged to wear with all of the RAs today. Well, no one’s doing it willingly this year because they’re a bunch of scrooges, but at least Ann’s already in hers. But she’s in a rather poopy mood this morning; Leslie’s bound and determined to make this late August day a great one for her opalescent tree shark of a roommate. “We should get a rug. We need a rug. Ooh and some hot chocolate!”

Ann rolls her eyes. “Add that to the list of a million other things we need to buy,” she mumbles.

“Why are you being such a downer about this?”

“Because it’s Saturday, Leslie. I’m not even supposed to be at school, much less on Labor Day weekend.”

She guesses that’s slightly true. Most residents of the dorms don’t start moving in until tomorrow, but there are more than a few already on campus. They have decorating to do and orientation to get ready for and activities to organize. Leslie’s literally bursting at the seams with possibilities and opportunities, but, in Ann’s defense, they’re running off of roughly seven hours of sleep for two and a half days. Ann has been lying around in bed all day...

“Why don’t we go get breakfast?” Leslie suggests, hoping to cheer her best friend up. “My treat.”

Ann immediately shakes her head. “Uh uh, Knope. I think you should take a nap before all of those ideas of yours make your major organs explode.”

“For your information, Ann, I don’t have what you consider to be ‘major organs’ because all of my organs are major organs,” she tells her, putting her hands on her hips.

Ann’s eyebrows furrow. “That doesn’t make any sense. But suit yourself. I’m taking an eight hour siesta.”

With that, she rolls over, covering her legs with the neon pink and green comforter before pulling her sleep mask over her eyes.

Great. Just great. Now, the orientation will be a complete and utter disaster. Leslie sighs quietly before putting on her flip flops, grabbing her stuffed backpack, and heading out of the overly warm building. If Ann’s going to sleep, Leslie will just do her share in the Union, where the activities are being held. And she’ll rock the hell out of it too.

Outside, it’s bright, and the humidity slices straight through her. Her hair automatically curls in on itself, and her breathing deepens. Why the hell is the sun so mean during the summer? Actually, it’s almost not summer at all since fall starts in a few weeks. But one of the things Leslie hates most about the Midwest is that the states can get pelted with snow in mid-April, but still be 90-something degrees at the end of October.

She’s at the back exit of the dorm when she spies an oddly familiar figure sitting on the decrepit bench. Leslie straightens her shirt, marching over to the guy who wouldn’t listen to her yesterday about parking in the wrong area. Why do people never listen to her? She might be petite and blond and a woman, but she’s certainly not someone who breaks the rules.

“Hey, pal,” she says snarkily. “Have fun picking up your car from the pound?”

“The pound?” She frowns as she watches his eyebrows rise from behind his dark sunglasses. “So you’re the one who called. I shoulda figured that. But, sure, I guess I had fun considering no one ever came.”

“What? No! I left, like, seven messages!”

“Wow, you must really like towing strangers’ cars.”

She rolls her eyes. “I do, dear sir! Because certain strangers don’t know how to listen!” And then she spies something extremely gross pinched in between his left index and middle finger, and she grimaces. “And you smoke? What the hell is wrong with you? You know this is a tobacco free campus, right?”

He nods. “Yes, Mom. But this isn’t tobacco, so don’t worry.”

And is he actually taking a drag off that cancer stick in front of her immediately after she said something about it?

But then her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

She can’t believe she’s standing out here in the 100 degree weather, talking to this sort of, kind of cute guy with wild tufts of dark hair sticking out everywhere. Wait. No. Not cute. Not even remotely cute. Because smoking is gross, and he’s gross, and he can’t even figure of where he’s supposed to park his stupid Saturn.

And then she gets a whiff of that skunky, stale smell, and her heart races. “Oh my God! You are not smoking pot out here, are you?” she screeches, trying her best to keep her voice low.

At that, he stupidly cracks a crooked-ass smile that makes her stomach twist. “Guilty as charged.”

“You do know that’s illegal, right?”

He shrugs, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

Son of a squirrel.

(In Pawnee, that’s actually a saying, but she’s not sure whether that’s a thing in Indy or not).

“This!” she starts. “This is an outrage! An absolute outrage! How dare you have the audacity, the impudence to just... assert this foul odor on to other people! Do you think this is what I want to smell when I’m walking purposefully from here to another place?”

“You could, and this is just me spit-balling here, walk the other way,” the guy says. “Or you could, you know, ignore it like a sane person.”

What?

No.

He did not.

He did not refer to her as being insane, right?

Right?!

She’s engulfed in flames, her cheeks red and sweat beading on her forehead as she clenches her fists together.

But then the jerkish guy stands up, flicking the stub of his joint on the sizzling concrete below.

“It’s been nice talking to you,” he tells her simply, walking across the parking lot and back into his dorm building.

Littering. He litters too.

~

_September 26, 1995_

The next time she sees her pot smoking, littering, needs-to-have-his-car-towed arch nemesis, it’s a little over a month before Halloween. She’s fresh from a screaming match with Ann Meredith Perkins, one that came after Leslie told her to get her act together and start doing her homework before the night it’s due. Leslie didn’t mean to make her best friend in the entire galaxy that angry, but Ann’s grades are slipping fast. Leslie doesn’t want to see her fail.

It’s a huge issue in college, and they’re juniors, so it’s now or never. Ann always wants to either sleep or party. It didn’t used to be like this, but now getting her to wake up and go to class is a miracle. But Ann thinks Leslie’s steamrolling her, pushing her around and telling her what to do because it’s easy and convenient for her to have someone to boss around. That’s not the case at all, but trying to prove that to Ann just made it the situation worse.

So, naturally, she walks to a nearby park to calm her nerves. Parks are lovely spots that make her feel warm and tingly. The air is crisp, pure, and clean, unlike Pawnee’s heavy pollution due to the Sweetums Factory operating twenty-four seven. It’s the one place she feels alive and free of her burdens. She bites her lower lip and tries very hard not to think about her upcoming statistics test or the history homework that’s due in three weeks that she should really look at.

“You must like benches,” she says, nearly face palming herself right then and there because, seriously, could she be any lamer?

The jerkish guy shrugs, inhaling a drag from his joint. “Guess so.”

She sits down at the other end, glancing in his direction every few seconds. Neither of them speak for what seems like a century. Leslie watches his Chuck Taylor covered foot bob up and down to a foreign, unheard rhythm, his legs crossed. And what is with him and these flannels? This one’s yellow and navy blue, and she definitely doesn’t notice that the print makes his angular jaw stick out in the best ways possible. And she totally ignores that it works incredibly well with his messy hair and unshaven face.

But then she takes in the oily herb scent lingering in the air and huffs. “Can you not do that right here? I’m trying to think.”

“I was here first,” he tells her shortly, inhaling more probably just to spite her.

She rolls her eyes. “What do you even get out of that anyway?” she questions. “Smoking causes cancer.”

This time, he looks at her. And, crap on a cracker, he has this dumb, crooked smirk that almost makes her grin too. “Um, there’s plenty of research that indicates cannabis actually helps alleviate the symptoms of chemo.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t say it couldn’t help with that. I said that it could cause cancer.”

He chuckles. “Not much of a smoker, are you?”

“Smoking is disgusting,” she points out. “Seriously, you should stop.”

“It’s not harmful,” he tells her.

And wait.

Why does she believe him?

He doesn’t speak that much, but she’s hanging on to every word when he does.

And why does his face look like that?

“So what is it then? What’re you trying to escape from?”

His eyebrows rise above his sunglasses. “Wow. Bold,” he comments. “Well, Miss...”

“Knope,” she says. “Leslie Knope.”

“Ben Wyatt,” he returns. “Well, Miss Knope, let’s just say I’m escaping from years of repressed emotions and a tarnished political career.”

Political career? No. She’s up to date on all political news everywhere all the time; it’s encoded in her nature. It’s why she desires to do in her life. And she doubts that’s possible. If he shaved that beard thing he’s got going on, she’s pretty sure he’d look all of fifteen years old. What a baby face. She doesn’t know why she’s imagining him clean-shaven, but she is, and it’s oddly working for her. She bets those dark brown hairs would be ticklish on her upper lip.

Okay.

No.

What is she thinking?!

“Tarnished political career?” she questions.

He sighs quietly. “Ever heard of Partridge, Minnesota?”

Leslie’s eyes immediately widen. “You’re Benji Wyatt?”

She was a senior in high school when she first heard that this eighteen year old kid from a small, hick town was elected mayor. She was class president and valedictorian, but, once she heard of Benji Wyatt’s mayoral status at such a young age, her titles and accomplishments felt significantly less compared to his. He was so small and cute, and she remembers those conflicted emotions of sadness, envy, joy, and courage all at once.

He nods. “I am,” he tells her. “When I was eighteen, I ran for mayor of my small town. And won. A little bit of anti-establishment voter rebellion, I guess. But here’s the thing about eighteen year olds: They’re idiots. So, I pretty much ran the place into the ground after two months and got impeached. The worst part was my parents grounded me.”

But, regardless of this admission, she smiles. “Oh my God. You were so cute.”

He chuckles, uncrossing his legs and bouncing his heel up and down in the grass. “Well, thank you.”

“What was that song you played at the swearing in ceremony?”

He hangs his head. “Whoomp! There It Is...”

“Yes!” she says. “That’s what it was. God, I was so jealous of you.”

Ben shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have been. I mean... It kinda ended up ruining my life.”

And there’s this surge of sadness that sweeps through her like an erratic hurricane. Because there’s a switch in demeanor, and Ben taps his fingers on his jeans. Jeans. It’s the end of September. The weather is as sunny as ever. Yesterday, it was 88 degrees. But he’s wearing stupid flannel shirts and jeans, and he isn’t even sweating. Damn him. But, at the same time, it’s almost as if he’s covering himself up, hiding bare skin away from the world.

She doesn’t know why he’s telling her this because, to be honest, he seems pretty closed off. Inaccessible. Like he would shatter if you spoke in his general direction. Because why would a cute, twenty year old guy come out to a park and smoke weed by himself? That’s not normal.

He inhales another thick stream of smoke, and Leslie grimaces.

“You really should stop doing that,” she tells him softly.

He nods. “I know.”

~

_September 29, 1995_

“Maybe you should have some protein with those French fries,” she suggests to Ben when she spies him in one of the dining halls on campus. “You know, to help with your scrawniness.”

Ben doesn’t glance up from the plate he’s very clearly enticed with. He absentmindedly swirls a fry in ketchup, and Leslie takes it upon herself to sit down at the otherwise unoccupied table. His dark hair’s flat against his forehead, the back sticking up at all sorts of odd angles. Plaid. Again. But, when he does make eye contact with her, she spies the bloodshot-ness. His eyes are so glassy and red, and seriously?

Why does everything revolve around smoking with him?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says offhandedly. “I haven’t been doing anything of the illegal variety; I’m just super tired.”

She frowns. “Why the hell are you that tired? You look half dead.”

He shrugs. “First test of the semester.”

“The first tests are always these easiest!”

“Not everyone is as smart as you, Miss Knope,” he points out. But she can totally tell he’s just messing around because he flashes that crooked grin for a split second. Why does his face look like that? And when is he going to shave? She’s kind of curious what’s under there.

That’s not weird, right? She’s only interacted with him three times, after all.

Nope. She’s going to go with nope. It’s not weird.

“Yeah, right,” she says. “You seem like a smart guy. What’s your GPA?”

“4.29.”

“What? No way! That’s mine too!”

Okay, now she’s totally and completely freaking out. Her insides go haywire, and this definitely cannot just be a coincidence. Sure, he’s annoying as hell and smokes way too much “you know what” and wears enough plaid to suffocate Africa, but he’s... She doesn’t know. But what she does know is that she must pry into every single detail of this guy’s life because he’s cute and apparently very smart, and she finds herself pulling out her brand new green binder.

“Um, what’re you doing?” he asks. “Whoa. Hold on. Don’t dip that in ketchup.”

He moves his plate to an abandoned table, and Leslie grabs her trusty gel pen. “We’re talking about you, Mr. Wyatt.”

“Is this... a therapy session?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. On a scale of one to ten, how in love with Madeleine Albright are you?”

~

_October 12, 1995_

Ben’s favorite subject is math because he’s a numbers robot. He has an older brother named Henry who once dared him to eat an entire bag of dog food when he was eight; he did it and only puked twice. His first kiss was in sixth grade during a very stereotypical, cliché game of Spin the Bottle. He played shortstop on his middle and high school’s JV team. He scored perfectly on the SAT (jerk; she only scored 2380). He bankrupted Partridge, Minnesota, in 1993. His father kicked him out of the house after that, and he moved to Indiana two years ago.

She asks why she’s never seen him before, but he doesn’t really have an answer other than he was incredibly reclusive when he first moved here.

Leslie learns all of this not only at that small, cramped table in the dining hall, but through the several conversations she’s had with him over the last couple weeks. Now, it’s mid-October, and she’s sitting in the library with Ben, whose head is down on the textbook in front of him. She rubs his back as she studies statistics, only cursing every now and then as she goes over formulas he wrote out for her in actual human terms the other night.

“You’re being really quiet,” she whispers, still kneading the warm flesh through the red and black flannel he’s wearing today.

“We’re in a library,” he deadpans softly.

She rolls her eyes. “I get that, genius. Are you not sleeping again?”

It’s just an inquiry based off of what he’s told her before. Sometimes, he sleeps all day. Literally all day. She can’t possibly fathom how this is true, but apparently it is (who knows how much work and fun he’s missing out on when he’s sleeping?). Other times, he doesn’t sleep for weeks at a time, only napping when his body desperately needs to recharge for an hour or two.

But she tries not to worry because they’re friends. Just friends. Even though Ann says that’s a load of bologna (she has odd choices of words).

“I’m sleeping,” he lies. “Hey, let’s get out of here. My head hurts, and these flickering lights aren’t helping.”

She eyes him, even though he can’t see her. “We’re not taking a smoke break, are we?”

“Let’s go for a walk. Or to the movies. Or to dinner. Lady’s choice.”

She beams brightly. “How about all three of those things?”

“Whatever you want, m’dear.”

He drapes his jacket over her shoulders as they walk out into the fresh, chilly autumn air.

And she doesn’t hesitate once when he reaches for her hand.

She tangles their fingers together and smiles.

~

“This isn’t what I had in mind for a picnic,” Ben says, chuckling as he flips the hood of his jacket over her head. “Between the rain and these waffles, I’m very baffled.”

She grins. “Well, continue to be baffled, good sir, because Leslie Knope stops for nothing, not even storms or soggy waffles.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~

_November 16, 1995_

They hold hands.

And kiss.

They maybe make out a little.

(Or a lot.)

And they obviously don’t have anyone fooled. Chris, Ben’s roommate, leaves almost the second Leslie enters the room, after a pleasant greeting and an unnecessary, yet enlightening, healthy eating tip that she’s sure to ignore. Ann makes her leave scrunchies on their doorknob and tosses boxes of condoms unearthed from somewhere at Ben just in case.

She feels so light and free around him. She can tell him anything in the universe, and he always hugs her, accepts her with open arms, and makes her believe she can do it all. She didn’t think she needed a guy to tell her that in the first place, but she will admit having one there is very nice, even welcome. He’s so gentle and walks her to class and carries her backpack and lets her borrow (keep) jackets, hoodies, t-shirts, flannels, and sweaters.

But she also knows she helps him. She makes him tea when he can’t sleep, gives massages when he’s stressed, and goes over his flawless English papers twelve times each, even though he definitely doesn’t need the scholastic help (she’s still super bitter that it seems like he might possibly be smarter than her, but that’s okay because he’s also very handsome). She keeps her mini fridge stocked with cans of Coke and tapes Star Wars movies when they’re on TV.

It’s a win-win for both of them, and she loves every second of it.

Especially on days like these. Days where she doesn’t have any urgent homework and isn’t coordinating a billion different activities at once. Days where he isn’t working at the library as a sexy math tutor or drowning in numbers. Nope. Today is Leslie and Ben’s day off, and she intends to make the most of it. It doesn’t matter that it’s almost Thanksgiving break, and it’s sleeting outside. What matters is she gets to spend some quality time with Ben.

She enters his dorm without knocking because she never knocks.

But she isn’t prepared to find him curled in a ball on his bed and buried beneath the thick comforter. His back is to her, and he doesn’t even flinch, so she’s assumes he’s asleep. Okay, that’s not immediately a bad sign. He hasn’t been sleeping for the past few days, so he’s playing catch up. That’s alright. She toes off her shoes and climbs into his tiny twin bed, spooning up behind him. He snuggles his back against her front as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly. She continues carding her digits through the mass hysteria that is his destroyed hair, relishing the closeness of their bodies. They cuddle and watch movies and, once, took a nap together, but this feels so much more intimate than Leslie ever realized possible. He’s so handsome and brilliant and perfect, and she finds herself wanting to drop everything and run just to be with this guy during all hours of the day.

Ben nods. “’m fine, babydoll.”

She quivers at the nickname, kissing his covered shoulder thoughtfully.

“Do you still wanna go out today? I know it’s gross outside, but I thought maybe we could go to the mall and do a bit of Christmas shopping. Or we could get coffee and some dinner.”

She isn’t expecting him to let out a shaky sigh. “Can we just lay here instead?”

Okay. Nope. Red flag. Big red flag.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he says immediately, and she watches him snap his eyes shut. “’m just sleepy.”

He yawns for effect, but Leslie isn’t buying it.

She doesn’t buy that he’s just tired. Well, yes, she knows he’s actually tired because she’s pretty sure he has insomnia or something like that, but this is different. She’s been working on getting him to open up more and more since they’re spending so much time together now, but he’s still pretty closed off and doesn’t offer much about his past. Leslie isn’t naïve. What happened in Partridge wasn’t even that long ago, and she knows Ben’s reeling from it.

“Ben, this isn’t healthy,” she tells him, especially when she notices he’s wearing pajamas at two thirty in the afternoon. She rubs his arm, and he shivers.

He shrugs. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Talk about what, babe? What’s going on in that giant mind of yours?”

And that’s apparently enough to prompt Ben to roll onto his other side to face her. His cinnamony breath is warm on her neck, and she smiles as he tentatively takes her left hand, playing with her fingers. His oversized long sleeved shirt sags completely off his shoulder, and his stubble scratches her whenever he moves. She tangles their socked feet together.

“My mom wants me to come home for Thanksgiving,” he says.

Leslie’s eyebrows furrow. “And you’re not ready for that yet?”

He shakes his head sadly, but he doesn’t offer anything else.

She knows. She knows what kind of an impact Ice Town has left on his life. He’s so young and smart and undeniably handsome, but he’s shut down aspects of himself because he’s too scared to go back to that state of mind. He still refills the same Zoloft prescription from almost three years ago. He still walks around with his senses heightened, deathly afraid that someone will figure out that he’s Benji Wyatt, the former teenage mayor.

“I know you’re terrified, but you should go. I think it’d be good for you.”

“You don’t understand,” he says so quietly she barely hears him. “Wait. No. I didn’t mean it like th–”

Leslie chuckles. “I know what you meant, Ben, and it’s okay. You’re right; I don’t understand. Help me understand.”

Ben scrubs his hands down the sides of his face, and she notes how hard he’s trembling. “Um, okay. Okay.”

~

_November 17, 1995_

“You got him what?” Ann asks incredulously.

Leslie’s eyes widen at the outwardly burst of energy that ruptures through her best friend in the universe. “I got him a plane ticket home.”

“And you don’t think that’s a bit much? I mean, you barely know him.”

“I know him really well, Ann! We hang out all the time, and you throw boxes of condoms at him like they’re candy! Where do you even get so many of them?”

She shakes her head. “Not important. But you buying Ben a plane ticket to Minnesota is pretty important. You’re gonna make that poor guy visit his family by himself?”

“Of course not!” she exclaims. “I’m going with him! We’re going together!”

Ann’s jaw drops open, and wait. What the fudge is happening here? Is she on trial? No, right? She has to get her eleven testimony binders ready if that’s true. She has eleven concrete, explicit binders for this trip she set up specifically to help Ben get over his past and move forward. He needs it. Really really needs it. They spent their day off together curled up in his bed and talking about it, which just made it that much more apparent how badly he needs this.

She’s already getting enough crap about this from her mom, but Ben deserves to be happy. He’s been cooped up inside his own head for so long that he doesn’t even know what the outside world looks like anymore. Of course, she’s going to visit her mother and lovely Pawnee, but it’ll be slightly after Thanksgiving because she has to make sure Ben makes it through this visit in one piece. She’s genuinely afraid of the possible outcomes, but she’ll do anything if it means soothing his conscience and making him feel better about himself.

“Together? Leslie, you’ve known the guy for, like, three months. What if he’s an ax murderer?”

“Are you crazy? Ben would never murder me.”

He so totally wouldn’t, and she completely stands behind that.

“I know he actually wouldn’t,” Ann says sincerely. “I’m just worried about you.”

Leslie gets off her bed and instantly envelops her unicorn haired pal into a huge hug. “This is why I love you, you noble land mermaid.”

~

“You got me what?” Ben asks disbelievingly. “Leslie, you didn’t have to do this.”

She waves him off, wrapping her arms around him while they sit on his bed. “It’s not a problem. I’m super excited for the trip!”

But she gathers right away that he isn’t as thrilled, and that’s okay. She already took that into account. He’s quivering all over, sweat drenching his hair in contrast, and she rubs his clammy back beneath his flannel. He buries his face in her neck, and she peppers kisses on his temple. He’s a ball of nerves, an abundance of nervous energy already, but she’s bound and determined to make this trip successful. She just hopes she can pull it off.

She’s toying with a very delicate situation here. Apparently, Ben hasn’t even seen his family since the June after he was impeached. He’s held on to these negative emotions for so long, but she also thinks about his family. He has parents and two siblings. She’s one hundred fifty thousand percent sure that they miss him to pieces.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” he whispers after a few minutes.

Leslie gently pushes him until he’s flat against his pillows, staring up breathlessly at her with tears in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Ben,” she says, kissing him gently. “It’s okay.”

~

_November 20, 1995_

He’s twitching and squirming, bouncing his heel up and down mercilessly. His breathing’s shallow, and he alternates between chewing on his fingernails, running his fingers through his hair, and tapping complicated rhythms on his jeans. He’s all nerves. It’s as if the wonderful and brilliant Benjamin Wyatt has been replaced with this bundle of anxious energy that’s bound to explode all over the cabin of their airplane at any moment.

Leslie grabs his right hand, rubbing over his knuckles with her thumb. She’s tried crossword puzzles and Sudoku and lightning rounds of trivia, but Ben’s apprehension remains undeterred. She’s not going to lie; it was kind of cute at first. But now it’s apparent he can’t calm himself down. She remembers him panicking over the B minus he got on his managerial accounting test (she knows he would’ve gotten a typical, sparking A plus if it weren’t for the 103 fever blazing through his body on that particular day), and it took three hours to even slightly cool him off.

“What can I do to help?” she inquires softly.

He glances over at her, and she sees the pure, unaltered terror gleaming in his brownie eyes. “I... I haven’t, um, seen my family... in three years,” he says. “And I’m horrified by what they’ll say to me, and I already know Henry’s gonna kick me in the balls. And my dad’s gonna ream me the entire time I’m there, and –”

“Whoa, hey,” she says, stopping him right there. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Ben, everything is going to be fine. I know you haven’t seen them in a long time, but they’re still your family. They still love you and want the best for you.”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly before moving his hand away from hers; she takes it back immediately and holds on tighter. “I-I don’t know that for sure.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you have me here too because I know they love you. I know they support you and want you to be happy. They don’t want you to torture yourself over this anymore,” she tells him sincerely with a smile. “Do you want to listen to that Achtung Baby album some more?”

Ben nods frantically, and Leslie pops the album into his extremely old CD player.

~

By the time the cab drops them off in front of Ben’s childhood home, there are dark, puffy smudges beneath his eyes, and she’s pretty sure he’s about three minutes away from shattering into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. This is a surprise, unannounced visit on their part, so Leslie takes this opportunity to take Ben for a walk to blow off a bit of steam. He agrees immediately, shouldering his duffel bag while rolling her suitcase beside him.

“Go ahead,” she tells him gently.

He eyes her skeptically. “Um, ‘go ahead’ with what exactly?”

“You know,” she whispers. “Do that thing you’re not supposed to do.”

She smiles at his cute, confused face because he clearly isn’t picking up what she’s putting down.

“The illegal thing. The thing I hate,” she tries again.

Ben frowns. “But you just said you hate it. Why would I do it?”

“Normally, I hate it, but it’s literally the only thing I can think of to keep you from peeing in your pants. You’re so nervous, and I understand why you are, so maybe this will help take the edge off and help you finally relax.”

“Am I really that bad?” he asks.

She nods instantly. “Oh yeah, buddy. You might wanna get that checked out,” she says, nudging him playfully.

Ben halts his slow walk, fishing around in his duffel and unearthing one of several joints from a Ziploc bag. He grabs the lighter from his coat pocket. She watches his fingers shake as he lights it. Watches him exhale gratefully while the first hit buzzes around in his skull. She grins, and they start their walk around the block once more.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he tells her for the forty-fifth time today.

She takes his hand. “Shh, Benjamin. Everything’s fine.”

~

“Benji!” his mother shouts, promptly wrapping him up in her embrace.

Leslie smiles brightly as Ben’s passed from his mom and spends what seems like minutes of clinging to his little sister Steph who, admittedly, isn’t exactly what she’d call little. She’s taller than Leslie, and that’s so not okay. She’s still in high school and has long, beautifully straight brown hair that’s a touch lighter than Ben’s and legs that go on for days. And then he shuffles awkwardly over to his brother, who seems to size him up before hugging him.

“Welcome home, baby brother!” Henry says, clasping his shoulder.

Ben rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his feet. “Um, thanks.”

“Who’s this?” Ben’s mom asks, motioning over to Leslie.

“Oh,” Ben starts. “This is Leslie. She’s my, uh...”

She feels the panic lacing his words, so she steps in. “Girlfriend. I’m his girlfriend.”

Leslie extends her hand in greeting, but Ben’s mom crushes her in a bear hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Leslie!”

And she totally doesn’t miss that grateful, adorable twinkle in Ben’s eyes or that crooked grin.

He deserves this. He deserves every bit of it.

~

Ben hasn’t let go of her hand.

At first, he was desperately clinging onto it, as if he’d explode if they broke apart for a millisecond. Eventually, though, he releases his grip little by little until it’s gentle, slight, and very sweet. It screams the essence of him, especially around his family. His family. The people he hasn’t seen or really spoken to in three years. And, honestly, she never thought she’d meet a guy’s family, much less be the one to bring them together.

She’s not bragging; she’s just surprised with herself. Because, yes, she’s Leslie Knope, the master coordinator of anything that can be planned, but even she didn’t expect this. Maybe Ann was right. Maybe they are moving a little too fast. She did totally drag Ben out of his comfort zone, to another state, and is trying to guide him through making amends, letting go of his past. They just met a few months ago, and now it’s like her world revolves around him.

But she likes it. She really really likes it.

And she really likes him because he’s cute face-wise and has a nice butt.

They’re sitting on the couch. There’s that slight tremor to Ben’s hands that’s always there. But he’s smiling and laughing and seems... oddly put together. Of course, he smoked a joint a couple hours ago, but she doesn’t know how long that will affect him. Or if it’s even affecting him anymore. Weed is complicated, but Ben isn’t. He’s comforting to her in ways unimaginable, and she wants to relish in his peace with his past and touch of his hands for the rest of the night.

“Your hair is nuts, honey,” Julia, Ben’s mom, says after they finish watching a home video from June of 1978, where two and a half year old Ben toddles around in his tiny Star Wars t-shirt and Scooby-Doo underwear. Henry’s in the background with a microphone and a sort of mullet thing going on there, and Leslie cackles the entire time. But now Julia’s on the move, brushing Ben’s hair back from his forehead like Leslie always does. “And you should shave.”

“You look like Grizzly Adams,” Henry comments, munching on popcorn from beside Ben.

He shakes his head. “I barely even have a beard.”

“Ooh!” Steph exclaims. “You should shave it down to a soul patch!”

“Ew,” Ben grimaces. “Why?”

She shrugs. “You’d look weird. But, then again, you always look weird.”

~

“They’re great!” Leslie tells him, nudging him with her elbow. “See, no one’s even mentioned ‘you know what.’”

He shrugs. “Yeah, not yet. But, trust me, it’ll happen.”

“Benjamin, not everyone is out to get you. Your family loves you and is excited to see you. Why can’t you just enjoy that?”

He instantly sits up from his childhood bed; seeing him in this environment is still blowing her mind. “I... I am enjoying this, Les. Trust me; I really am. But you don’t know them like I do. Eventually, Mom’ll bring it up because Nancy Reynolds or Barbara Winifred doesn’t talk to her at the supermarket anymore. Henry will tell me that all of his girlfriends dump him when they learn his relation to Ice Clown Ben Wyatt. It’s just... a mess. And I know it’s my fault, so I shouldn’t complain, but I hate waiting for disasters.”

Leslie pushes him back against the too-flat pillows on this, guess what, flannel bed set, laying her head on his chest. They’re both in their pajamas for the night, and, while she’s supposed to be spending the night in the guest room, she’s staying here. With him. They decided that on the plane ride.

“They love you, Ben,” she whispers.

He nods. “I know they do.”

“Please try to keep an open mind.”

Another nod. “You’re right.” It’s quiet for a few moments. “Thank you for coming here with me. Thank you for setting this up. Thank you for being such an amazing girlfriend.” He maneuvers her to where she’s now settled into the pillows. His fingers tremble slightly as he cards them through her hair. She can smell the cinnamon on his breath. The air rushes out of her as their lips press together, and she’s never felt more alive, more loved than she has at this moment.

~

_November 21, 1995_

“Rise and shi – WHOA!”

Leslie bolts straight up, quickly shielding her bare chest with the tangled mess of sheets.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” replies a mostly asleep Ben, who rubs at his eyes with his knuckles like a cranky toddler.

She instantly tugs the blankets over him a bit more too, her heart hammering relentlessly in her chest. Shit shit shit. Seriously. There’s, like, no privacy in this house! Shortly after they fell asleep last night, Steph came in to brag to Ben about her A plus book report over Of Mice and Men, which was three points higher than Ben’s original high school assignment covering the same book. Ben made her swear under penalty of death that she wouldn’t tell their mom that Leslie was spending the evening in his bed. With him.

“Dude, Mom’s so gonna kill you,” Henry says. “Gross. Come on. You guys aren’t drunk, are you?”

Leslie shakes her head. “What? No. We’re fine!”

“Yeah, I bet Benji over there’s much better than fine. Well, anyway, Mom’s making breakfast, and she’ll be wondering where you two are, so I’d clean this up quickly.”

He leaves without another word, and she tries to get out of bed with her stomach at her toes when Ben snakes an arm around her waist. “Uh uh. Don’t go.”

“Your mom will find out, Ben. Let’s get up.”

He’s so gorgeous. So unbelievably handsome. And this morning has easily been the best morning of her life, even after Henry’s unlawful intrusion. Definitely unlawful. He evacuated all of her fuzzy, feel good moments in the blink of an eye, but oh well. She still has this naked, sexy, elf king of a boyfriend in front of her, one who smells exactly like the holidays and happiness.

“Don’t want you to go, babydoll,” Ben whispers, tugging her closer to him.

Dammit. Dammit to fudge. How in the hell is she supposed to resist him?

“Two more minutes, okay? Then we need to get moving.”

Ben nods and snuggles his face into her neck.

~

“Hey,” Leslie murmurs, nibbling at his ear. “It’s snowing.”

After a fun-filled breakfast with tons of awkwardness and a twenty-four year old Henry who wouldn’t stop high-fiving his little brother every three seconds, they’re back in bed. They’re both jet lagged out of their minds, and Ben’s kind of warbled today, so they retired to his room for a nap. But now it’s snowing, and Leslie’s not very tired, and she wants to have adventures and go to the moon and see all the sights Partridge, Minnesota, has to offer.

“’s nice,” Ben mumbles, pulling the blankets up to his scruffy chin. “Go to sleep, baby.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Not today, Wyatt. Let’s go!”

And she’s expecting to have to go through hell to get him off this mattress, but he cracks open his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

She smiles brightly. “Let’s just spend some time with your family. There’s no reason to nap the day away.”

“Thought you were gonna say somethin’ else...” he says teasingly, lying back down.

“Who’s throwing that off the table? I’m totally game, Ben.”

He grins. “Show me.”

She tosses off her tank top, and Ben’s eyes look as though they’re about to bulge out of his skull.

~

_November 22, 1995_

Ben finally crashes around three PM the day before Thanksgiving. He’s curled in a ball on the couch, his head in her lap as she cards her fingers through his unruly, undeniably adorable hair. Henry took Steph to the grocery store to gather some last minute supplies for tomorrow’s feast, and Leslie’s singing the Charles in Charge theme song in her mind while Julia busies herself in the kitchen. She desperately wants to jump up and help, to engage her boyfriend’s mom in meaningful conversation, but Ben does this cute whimper thing every time she tries to move, so she stays put. For him, obviously. And maybe a little bit for herself.

“You make him really happy,” Julia says, entering the living room and covering up her son with a plaid quilt (what the fudge is up with these people and plaid things?). “I can tell.”

Ben cuddles harder against her. “Well, he makes me really happy too. He’s an amazing guy.”

“I’ve missed him so much since he’s been gone,” Julia tells her softly, almost regrettably. “I know what happened was horrible, but I wish he hadn’t just up and left.”

Leslie nods. “I think he was scared of what you’d think of him.”

“He’s my baby boy. I love him. And I feel like a failure for letting him go for so long without telling him that.”

There’s stirring in her lap, and Ben sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and heading straight into his mother’s arms.

“I love you too, Mom.”

~

“Wow,” Henry says. “You’ve still got it, baby brother.”

“No shit. He’s murdering us here,” Steph comments from beside him.

Leslie nods. “He’s practically a genius. It only took him an hour to whoop my ass at IU.”

Ben just blushes, and Leslie grabs his hand, kissing the back of it sweetly.

They’re in a heated Monopoly battle to the death. Well, it’s only heated because they’re swearing and drinking a few beers (Henry even snuck one down here for Steph) and trying really hard not to kill Ben, the master of all masters of this delightful, life-ruining board game.

Leslie begs to differ that it’s actually Ben Wyatt himself who’s a life ruiner, but in the best ways possible.

“Alright, Benja-saurus, let’s get this show on the road so you can go back upstairs and bang your lady friend,” Henry says. “Sorry, totally not trying to be an asshole to you, Leslie, but my butt hurts, and I can smell Mom’s turkey.”

Steph agrees. “Yep. I’m dying of starvation.”

“Could anyone go for some s’mores?” Ben questions. “I could really go for some s’mores.”

“YES!” Henry and Steph exclaim at the same time, bolting out of their chairs.

“Are you sure Henry’s really twenty-four?” Leslie giggles.

Ben nods. “Oh yeah.”

And then he kisses her soft and slow and hard and everything in between.

~

_November 23, 1995_

“Dude, quit hogging all the turkey!”

“No, ‘dude,’ quit feeling me up for my turkey!” Ben says, and it’s probably the most outward thing Leslie thinks she’s ever heard from him. “Seriously, Henry, you’re touching my ass.”

“It’s an assembly line,” Julia informs them. “It’s not that hard to figure out, people.”

And, trust her, the house is definitely crowded with friends and family. Ben’s kind of “you know what” combined with taking a Zoloft capsule this morning, so he doesn’t seem to be affected much about this shift in surroundings. She knows she hasn’t healed him completely, soothed his racing mind from his demons, but he’s heading in the right direction. He’s talking to his family freely, no one’s brought up the past, and it’s as if nothing were ever wrong in the first place.

“I will punch you if you cut me again, Benjamin,” Henry threatens.

“Go right ahead, Henramin. Leslie’s got my back.”

She swears she grins from ear to ear. “You don’t want to mess with us.”

Henry sulks more about how Ben’s stealing all the turkey, and Ben just leans down slightly to kiss her.

~

“This is amazing,” he says quietly. “You’re so wonderful.”

Leslie rubs his bare hip. “You deserve this and more, Ben.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d probably still be at IU lying around all day and feeling sorry for myself. Just... Thank you for this. You honestly have no idea how much it means to me.”

She kisses his nose. “I love you.”

Whoa.

Wait.

No.

Did she really just say that?

“I mean, I don’t... Psshh, love is for square–”

Ben presses their lips together, and butterflies ignite in her stomach. He pulls away; she swears his eyes are a bit misty. “I love you too, Leslie Knope. So much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


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